


serendipity

by spacegirlkj



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff, Love at First Sight, M/M, anxiety (mentioned and implied), figure skating AU, its gay, kind of, oihina week 2017, prose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 09:26:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13073964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacegirlkj/pseuds/spacegirlkj
Summary: The first time Hinata sees him, really sees him, in person sees him, is the first year skating as a senior.-oihina week day one, prompt ice skating





	serendipity

**Author's Note:**

> GOD THIS SI SO LAST MINUTE BUT HERE IT IS....... welcome to oihina week i love oihina  
> thank you to mooks for beta'ing as always!!!!  
> NOTES TO MAKE READING THIS BETTER (note that the sp length is not that long hjjhdshfjsa)  
> oikawas sp song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_t98LWNwUhI  
> hinatas sp song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=idGvKFbYgI4  
> oikawas fp (aka my favourite program ever): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yZxDCfgVfTc&index=42&list=PLts1gOuE3y8653hNEcZQa89C6pe7545uH&t=182s
> 
> sorry idont know how to make nice links im a literature gay

The first time Hinata sees him,  _ really _ sees him, in  _ person _ sees him, is the first year skating as a senior. 

Oikawa laces up his skates in the warm up area, headphones slipped in each ear, eyes closed as his lips mouth words unheard. There’s an open ice practice for all competitors at the NHK before they compete, meaning for the first time, Hinata will share the ice with the one the entire  _ world _ whispers about.

He’s favoured to win, of course. He won this time last year, landing him a spot in the Grand Prix Final. Even if he comes second, the look of silver around his neck will be enough to make Hinata’s eyes widen. 

But it wasn’t because of his score, nor the shimmering glory of the metal on his neck, the glow of cameras flashing all around him. It was the look of inferiority in his eyes, the downcast tinge to his smile he couldn’t quite hide. Through the screen of his television, Hinata had seen someone reaching,  _ clawing _ for victory, had seen the look of second not being enough.

Here, it’s different. He doesn’t dare approach him, doesn’t dare tell him how last year’s skate to  _ On The Nature Of Daylight  _ nearly brought tears to his eyes, doesn’t ask how he manages to pull of quads as if it were breathing. Instead he simply watches from across the room, stretches his calves and tries not to trip over his own feet when Oikawa rises to a stand. By then, Hinata has already looked away.

They meet again on the ice, jackets still on, covering the sequences and mesh that clad their bodies. Hinata is nothing if not focused on this sport, this  _ art _ , gives himself to it for the short time he has before he waits. Natural athleticism meets a drive that burns so wild it could melt the ice, a kind of passion that hasn’t yet to align with the strength in his core. Hinata’s jumps leave the entire crowd breathless, leave envy for his speed clear in the air, but more than once does his form suffer for it. He leaps hard and falls harder, catches himself in the nick of time more than once. He has trouble slowing down— he  _ knows _ this. Yet when out of the corner of his eye he sees Oikawa, eyes shut, slip through the motions of his step sequence— back, forwards, arms above his head— his momentum dulls just enough to let a breath escape.

There’s a few other competitors that skate before he does— Hinata’s apathetic friend Kenma, with the hair he hasn’t even bothered to redye for the competition, two others whose names are unknown to him, and Oikawa himself.

Oikawa wears a white long sleeve that goes as far to cover his hands, the deep v of his neckline swirling into silver that tracks down his sides. There are cutouts on his arms, and his pants, slim to fit and hugging his thighs, sparkle under the oppressive lights of the arena. At the last moment before he skates to centre ice, he catches Hinata’s eye as if he had known Hinata was looking his way. They hold each other’s gaze if only for a moment, surprise clear in both of their features.

_ Oh _ , Hinata thinks to himself _. His eyes are brown _ .

And then Oikawa smirks his way, turns with a swish of his head and skates out to the centre ice as if nothing had happened, because to him, Hinata knows, nothing had. He takes his spot in the limelight and basks in the applause before it quiets, his eyes closing just like they had in the waiting room, fluttering shut in a motion so reminiscent of sleep. They don’t open until the gentle trill of  _ To Kill A Mockingbird _ hums through the rink, and even then, its no more than enough to show a sliver of iris against his skin.

Oikawa breaks the short program record in that skate, the one where he pushes the ice away with all of his strength, the one where he brushes that gloved hand to the ice, the one where ever movement seems to swell like the tide. When he steps off of the ice with an expression of glee on his face, Hinata doesn’t think about his skate, doesn’t think about botched landings or hasted movements. All that occupies his mind is a question of how these two people can exist at once.

—

Oikawa falls short in the Grand Prix again.

Hinata couldn’t go, spent his time preparing for nationals once more— he  _ had _ to make it back on that stage, had to prepare the energy in his bones to better carry the motions he wants to reenact— but he watched. He watched Oikawa give his all, watched him crumple at the end of his free program  _ knowing _ that the one fall in the beginning would cost him a title, watched him take silver with another smile Hinata could only call fake.

Hinata wonders, late at night, when he’s stretching his arms over the banister that over looks the family room, why he’s so enraptured by Oikawa’s every doing. They never shared anything more than that one glance in Osaka, minutes before Oikawa claimed the hearts of every person watching. He should be a rival— he knows every other skater his coach teaches thinks of him as so— but he can’t help but rewatch his skates at night, can’t help but scroll aimlessly through practice videos to see what he’s like when he’s not performing.

Oikawa conducts the music as he skates, anticipates the fall and the rise of each pitch, reaching for the tempo in ways Hinata could never do without seeming desperate. He wonders if Oikawa realizes he exhales before salchows and inhales before axels, lets the breath go when his skates hit the ice. Is Oikawa in tune enough to know the nerves in his ankles as if they were his own hands? Does he understand how to curve his back just enough to fly when he reaches the apex of a jump?

“You’re just observant,” Kenma tells him at practice. “I don’t know if you should spend time trying to figure out why that works for him.”

That’s the thing— Hinata doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want Oikawa’s secret for tasting silver, doesn’t envy his ability to skate on the smooth runway of the rink.

(Maybe he does, just a little bit. But that isn’t what fuels this strange curiosity, this fixtation. If Hinata had a name for what draws him to Oikawa, he wouldn’t be bugging Kenma about it while they drink water and watch the pairs skaters do lifts. He wouldn’t be asking so many questions.)

—

Hinata’s short program is to a jazz number called  _ Birdland _ , and every time the trumpets blare out through the arena loud enough to break glass, a grin rises to his face. The lights of nationals are blinding, but by now, Hinata is used to them. This program is all  _ pizzazz, _ nodding towards the judges and launching himself in the air with the strength of a tiger through a flaming hoop. The step sequence is one of the most difficult in his career, but he holds through, paying every mind to his posture and footwork as he would a toe-loop. 

Even when he pulls the quad-triple-triple combo at the end, he watches his posture, forces himself not to flail in excitement, forces himself not to let the energy take him to another space. For a moment, everything is quiet— the music dies out, and the last sound Hinata hears is the click-scratch of his skates crunching down against the ice. And as soon as it started, the moment ends, the music swelling to new heights in both volume and pitch, Hinata sliding on his knees across the ice before swooping up into his final spin. By the end of it he’s sweating and panting and laughing louder than the uproar of the fans, froze in place in sheer awe of the noise that surrounds him. He doesn’t need to see his scores to know he crushed it, doesn’t need to trip on the roses and stuffed toys thrown onto the ice to know that his skate was loved.

In the kiss and cry, Coach Ukai loosens his tie, and shakes his head at the score with a smile.

“You did good, kid,” he tells him, patting his back. “First in the standings with one guy left, let’s see if you pass the test.”

Hinata  _ glows _ , eyes widening as he whips around to face his coach. “Can I watch?”

That puzzles Ukai, but he shrugs, looking back up at the screen. “Your choice, just don’t stress yourself out over it. We need you in the long, alright?”

Hinata wants to say  _ nothing can stop me from skating the free program,  _ wants to tell him  _ I’m only watching because Oikawa is skating, and when Oikawa skates my insides go  _ bam _ and everything freezes.  _ He doesn’t, of course. He simply nods and jumps out of his chair the moment he’s allowed to leave.

His program is just as beautiful as it was at the NHK, the elegance of falling leaves captured in every move he makes. Hinata stops analyzing the scores of his jumps, stops tallying the points as soon as his arms move to wrap around his own body, the motion a phantom hug that dissolves into a setup to one of the most graceful flips he’s ever seen. When Oikawa skates, he does so with tenacity. Every action is within his grasp, not one door out of reach. 

It’s what steals Hinata’s breath when the program ends, and it's why something eerily similar to dread sinks in his stomach when he catches Oikawa’s hands shaking as he skates off of the ice.

At the end of the day, Hinata keeps his lead in the short program by a total of 1.7 points. When he finds out he’s kept his lead, the reaction is delayed— a smile and shrug rising to his face before sheer shock takes over him. By the time he stumbles backstage, he’s bouncing off of the walls in excitement, unable to contain a single emotion. For the first time in his skating career, he’s taken a step towards winning on the big step. Granted, a small one— it’s only the short, afterall— but a step either way. Coach Ukai is halfway through explaining to him that there’s several media outlets that want to speak with him—  _ media outlets, _ Hinata echoes in a daze— when Oikawa walks back into the room.

His eyes are downcast now, earbuds slipped back into either ear as he slips his jacket on overtop of his skating costume. There’s likely adrenaline still pumping heavy through his blood, still ice to be swept off the black velvet of his pants. Guards  _ thud _ softly against the carpet rolled out over the laminate floor, and Hinata finds his eyes drifting over to Oikawa’s face as he heads for the changing room doors.

His head says  _ tell him he skated like a dove, tell him that everyone held their breath when his feet hit the ice, tell him your entire head went blank when his eyes closed at the end. _

The words get lost on the trip to his mouth, and Oikawa simply walks away and out of sight again.

—

Media is  _ exhausting _ despite Hinata’s never ending enthusiasm. The blogs and the outlets ask the same questions on loop:  _ how do you feel about taking first in the short? Is it scary now that you’re competing as a senior? Do you think you can upset Oikawa for the gold even though you didn’t surpass his season’s best, and world record, today? _

Hinata smiles through all of it and tries his best to give thought out answers that don’t consist of him waving his arms around and saying  _ y’know _ again and again. It’s bad audio, apparently, and leaves the bloggers all the more room to paraphrase. After a few hours of talking to individual outlets, he’s finally let free of their clutches to change out of his costume. As much as he loves the pink and red shimmer, it’s beginning to itch at the back of his neck and he’s  _ cold _ without his insulated leggings. 

After he’s changed and thrown his bag over his shoulder, he makes his way out to the main area of the arena. Most of the crowd has cleared— arena staff have begun to clean up the ice pad he skated on earlier, but not much else is going on around him. Coach Ukai had said he was meeting with sponsors as trusted he could make it back to the hotel across the street in one piece, and Hinata doubts Kenma would  _ ever _ linger after the skate is over. WIth a content sigh and tired calves, Hinata begins to make his way outside only for his eye to catch something happening on the second ice pad.

It’s not so much  _ something  _ as  _ someone.  _ Hinata moves closer to the windows that look into the smaller practice rink, wiping some of the fog off of the pane to see none other than Oikawa himself, eyes closed shut, skating in circles around the ice. He wasn’t expecting it to be him, guilt rising in his stomach at the fear of intruding. Yet the curiosity of what brought him there after a day such as the one they both had, the lingering questions, the desire to tell him what’s been on his mind and to say hello for once is too great to allow him to turn back. Hinata was caught in his gravity the moment he turned to look through the glass.

Hinata is careful not to make too much noise as he enters, pushing the door slowly so not to disrupt Oikawa’s concentration. He’s surprised that there’s no music playing from the speakers— the only sound breaking the ever growing  _ thump _ of Hinata’s heart is the whirr of the cooling system and the fans. Every step Hinata takes echoes off of the steel walls and arched ceiling, his shoes pitter patter of rain in the eye of the storm. Even without sound, Oikawa holds an intensity around him that Hinata only dreams to emulate. The lazy circles— figures, he realizes— are enchanting in their simplicity, the opposite of the program he had skated earlier. Hands resting on the boards, Hinata simply takes it in, smile spreading before he can even name the feeling.

Oikawa doesn’t start as much as he slows to a halt and turns, only a few feet over from Hinata. Their eyes meet, and now there’s no denying he knows Hinata is watching him. Hinata’s smile quickly drops as he realizes how  _ terrible  _ of an idea this was, Oikawa skating closer with one earbud pulled loose out of his ear.

“Oh, you’re Hinata,” Oikawa says, rewriting solemn features with light surprise. “You’re even shorter without skates on.” 

“I— uh— what?” Hinata stammers, caught halfway between relief that Oikawa recognized him and slight indignance that the first thing Oikawa commented on is his height.

Oikawa waves a hand, reaching over the boards to grab a water bottle. “It’s nothing, just people are always different up close,” he explains, taking a swig. “Your skate today was… vibrant…” he trails off for a moment, eyes drifting back to Hinata as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “You should be proud.”

“Ah!” Hinata exclaims, because his heart is pounding and Oikawa is  _ speaking _ to him and  _ oh my god _ Hinata didn’t know someone could look this wonderful with sweat stuck to their hairline and a tight black turtleneck. “Um— ah— thank you very much! Your program is really, really good— you’re skating in general is really good! I’ve, uh, been meaning to say that.”

Oikawa quirks a brow, his half smile turning almost into a grimace. “I made too many stupid errors. It cost me to pop the quad near the end,” he says. “Everyone says this is the golden program— I should at least keep it that way.”

If that’s a threat, Hinata doesn’t notice. Instead, he leans further onto the boards as Oikawa leans back, bodies in opposite directions and faces somehow close enough to make Hinata’s cheeks blush. “You have near flawless technique and  _ insane _ flexibility and power in your spins— you can do a balmerian! I mean, like, olympic athletes fall and still get gold. You can afford that,” Hinata tells him. “Technique isn’t my strong suit, on the other hand…” 

Oikawa watches him as he pouts, somewhat embarrassed as to admitting one of his most obvious faults. Sometimes, Hinata’s skating career feels like a house built on top of a pyramid, like one day the foundation will tip and he’ll have nothing to fall back on. It’s  _ known _ he’s always gotten more points in the performance categories— the only thing that keeps his technical scores high are his jumps, and without proper landings—

“You should really put your jumps all in the second half. You were hardly tired after your skate today— I saw you— and that’s face paced,” Oikawa begins explaining. “That way, you’d be getting more points to make up for you shaky landings and over rotations.”

“Hey! I didn’t over rotate!” Hinata shouts, take aback by Oikawa’s sudden bluntness.

Oikawa shrugs, smiling once again. “Not this time, no. You beat me because you skated better than clean and I didn’t. You could be an even bigger threat than you are now.” Looking away, Oikawa sighs. “You’ve got natural ability. Don’t let it slip by.”

A lapse of silence falls over the pair of them, Oikawa sipping from his water bottle with hands so much more steady than before as HInata tries not to let the star inside of his chest go supernova at the thought of Oikawa  _ helping _ him. Those thoughts are loud in the quiet, louder than the hum of music that bleeds from Oikawa’s headphones. Hinata isn’t sure what sparked Oikawa to talk to him like this in the first place, why there isn’t awkwardness instead of the anticipation buzzing in the air.

“You should head back to the hotel and rest up for tomorrow,” Oikawa finally tells him, breaking the air.

“You’ve been skating longer than I have,” Hinata counters.

At that, Oikawa simply raises a brow, hauling himself up over the boards. “I think less when I’m on the ice,” he says. “But if it’ll humour you, I’ll walk you back.”

Hinata heart flutters. That night he replays Oikawa’s praise over and over and over, remembers the gentle way he skated in figures around the rink. Oikawa, head tipped back, words teasing and jesting and sincere. Oikawa, sadness laced in determination and mystery that follows him like cold follows the wind. Oikawa, with his insults and compliments and his messy hair and his tight black turtleneck. Hinata groans, and then he huffs out a sigh. 

With unknown sheets pulled around his head and a sensation in his stomach he can only call foreign, Hinata feels completely at home.

—

Everything is the same and yet totally different the next morning, because Oikawa talks to him before warmups like they’ve known each other their whole lives and then proceeds to get into his zone before anything else can happen. He leans up against the wall and talks about the people milling about and breakfast and makes Hinata’s head spin because  _ he can talk to people so simply. _ Oikawa manages to look beautiful both barefaced at their morning practice and after he finishes a full face of makeup, adorned with his costume that melts blue to green to white. It’s an aurora to match the mystique of his long program, shimmering without sequins, flashy without being loud.

Hinata skates last today, meaning this time he watches Oikawa before stepping onto the ice. That cold determination, winter storm and frost shut eyes hovers around him— tension is clear in the air, but not in his bones. Oikawa stretches out his arms like a bird before flight and takes centre ice in near silence, Hinata rooting for him even though they stand as rivals. It couldn’t feel less like that for Hinata, not when this maybe-friendship is blooming and he already feels as if Oikawa knows him like the back of his hand.

If his short program is the steady tide, then his long is the wind whistling through the trees, magic in every sense pulling movements from limbs that seem to move like water. Oikawa is nothing if not praised for his technique, but the first thirty seconds of his program is spent conducting the crowd with heartfelt grace, the first jump executed cleanly, perfectly, as the music begins to change.

By the second half, he’s nailed every jump and left Hinata wide eyed in wonder, a child watching dreams play before his eyes. When Oikawa pauses for a half second, reaching out with both arms, it feels as if he’s alone, as if there’s no judges and no lights and no cameras to watch him. Hinata imagines him thawing lakes frozen over, imagines him skating on water, daydreams and  _ wonders, wonders, wonders _ .

By the time the program is over, the crowd uproars, screams. Hinata skates next, but in that moment, he doesn’t care. Joy infects his very essence and tastes like vanilla and silver, but he could never be happier.

—

“Come with me somewhere,” Oikawa says when the cameras have left and the medals have been stowed away in hotel rooms, engraved with their names. “I want to celebrate your first nationals.”

“I— what?” Hinata stammers, playing with the zipper of his pull over as Oikawa wipes the makeup from his face in Hinata’s bathroom mirror. “Y-you hardly know me, though...?”

“You’re interesting, Hinata, and I want to know you more,” Oikawa tells him, and that kind of honesty is something Hinata can’t take without turning red and burying his face into a pillow, Oikawa smirking from across the room. Some kind of tension leaves his shoulders, replaced with a spark in his throat as Oikawa continues. “You inspired me to win, you know. Sometimes competition is a good thing if it feels friendly enough.”

And somehow Hinata manages to stand without falling and accept Oikawa’s offer for dinner downtown, in a small restaurant bar housing people in fancy outfits and meals priced high enough to make Hinata gag. When Oikawa pays, he protests. When their feet bump under the table, he tries not to choke.

Oikawa is not a genius, he learns. He learns Oikawa takes his after dinner tea with two sugars and one milk,  _ thank you’s  _ said to the waiter in an octave higher than usual, learns he drums his fingers and hums when conversation doesn’t flow. In return, Hinata tells him how he taught himself to skate and risked a concussion twice practicing jumps alone before finding himself a coach, tells him how his little sister plays soccer and pokes at his bruises after practice. Push and pull, give and take. Oikawa makes good company when he isn’t staring off into space, makes Hinata’s head fuzzy with realization that something might rest between them.

When they slip out of the restaurant and into the street, Oikawa takes his hand— an excuse of  _ I don’t have mittens and you’re warm _ uttered off hand despite how sure Hinata is that they’re both shaking. It feels nice, nonetheless. Oikawa’s palms are soft and smell like apricot hand cream, and his fingers fit nicely between Hinata’s when they sew together. They swing their arms in six eight, slowly, redhead on shoulder, eyes drooping from the adrenaline crash.

The feelings— the ones for Oikawa, the inside spinning, gravity stretching feelings— don’t vanish. It makes every part of Hinata light on fire enough so he’s sure Oikawa has noticed. Not even the soft drift of snowflakes from the sky and the cool winter wind could keep away the flame burning in his cheeks, fueling his ever increasing heartbeat in magnitude and speed.

“You seem tense,” Oikawa states. They stop by the warm neon sign of an ice cream shop long closed for the night. “Are you tired?”

Hinata doesn’t know how to say  _ I just talked to you for the first time yesterday and you’re all I think about _ . He nods instead, rests his forehead onto Oikawa’s chest without thinking of any repercussions. Oikawa’s embrace is the ocean wrapped around him, fresh sunday sheets. His heartbeat is loud, too. It echoes through Hinata’s ears and makes him feel less nervous about how his heart has been trying to jump out of his throat the entire evening.

Maybe that embrace is what keeps him from yanking away when Oikawa kisses the top of his head, lips pressed to his hairline for longer than a moment, a deep inhale, a sigh. Tension leaves Hinata through his toes as he looks up, slowly— Oikawa is still so tall even without skates— wide eyes catching an expression of mixed emotions. Oikawa bites his lip in hesitation but his eyes scream longing, and Hinata is rising onto his toes to kiss him before he even knows why.

And Oikawa kisses back, and it’s soft and it’s slow and it’s  _ unbelievable, _ because Oikawa smiles against his mouth and nips at his bottom lip ever so slighty, a feather against his skin. Hinata wants to pull his hair and make their heights equal, but he wants the warmth of their hands joined together even more. 

All of Hinata’s nervous energy thaws, and he melts in Oikawa’s hands, still straining on his tiptoes to reach Oikawa’s mouth. One hand leaves Oikawa’s to wrap around the back of his neck and pull him closer, into the storm, into his radius, into his orbit, Oikawa methodical in his kisses despite the near feverish movements of Hinata. Now, he guides the kiss— a tongue brushing against his, lips buzzing every time they part to take a deeper breath. Oikawa’s hands shake for different reasons now, but Hinata steadies them as best he can.

Hinata stops rushing when Oikawa’s hand touches his waist, because there is nothing but time ahead of them, because for a mind of overdrive ninety percent of the time, it feels cathartic to move slow. Somewhere, he wonders still, but for now he  _ feels _ and leaves the questions for later, thinks only Oikawa’s name because he is the one humming against his lips.

“Okay?” Oikawa asks when he breaks away, free hand cupping Hinata’s cheek. He steals his breath with him, leaving Hinata dazed and leaning forwards.

“Yeah,” Hinata says, buries his head into Oikawa’s coat. The hand slides down his back, and even with no one able to see it, he smiles. Oikawa squeezes his hand. He squeezes tighter.

—

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> THANK YOU FOR READING !!! kudos nd comments are appreciated and loved!!!


End file.
